Angel Soup
by Kura2
Summary: An idea of what the girl named Ukyou might have been like, from Muraki's POV. Takes place during the "Devil's Trill" Arc. Rated pg-13 for some langauge. Warning: is somewhat bizzare and disjointed.


She hates me, I know this.  
  
" I HATE YOU!!!!"  
  
Why does she hate me so?  
  
"Your're so pathetic! You let him kick you around like a dog!!"  
  
Where did this all come from? From the same wretched, quiet, dark place as my bastard brother?  
  
"Wake up, Kazutaka! For Chrissake, you fucking idiot! YOU MAKE ME SICK! !!!!!"  
  
Slap.  
  
Don't stop hating me.  
Please, never stop hating me.  
In the world where everyone coats their intentions with the disgusting sugar  
Of " Muraki-san"....  
  
Don't ever stop hating me.  
  
Ukyou, please, never stop hating me.  
  
Your endless rage is like a cleansing fire to my diseased and gangrenous soul.  
  
" Kazutaka, here, have an apple. Sorry I yelled. Ne, are you listening?"  
  
  
Ukyou...I think I may love you, Ukyou.....  
  
  
But I'm not surprised.  
  
This sick, unnatural love is probably the only kind I can feel. Look at your  
spine. Your spine, twisted like a paper clip......  
  
"Kazutaka?"  
  
Ukyou. As great as the whole world could have ever been, Ukyou….  
  
* * *  
  
  
"Sensei?"  
  
Your face. Your beautifully face. Your lovely skin, drenching in sweat .Every perfect strand of hair, ran through my fingers. Cleanse me of my sin, beloved. Let me wash my hands clean with your tears....  
  
"Sensei?" she asked again, hesitant. The stupid little girl. That stupid little prostitute, Tsubaki-hime.  
  
"I'm sorry, Tsubaki-hime...I was thinking of someone." I replied to her nonchalantly. I put my hand on her waist, and pulled her slightly closer- It wouldn't do for something to happen to her. The Otaku right next to us- the one with greasy hair, the pimples, the repulsive smile and the sweaty clothing, pretending to read his Love Hina Hentai Doujinshi- he was looking at her. Although he pretended to be absorbed in his world of stiff inked sluts, his only interest was somehow touching the pretty 13 year old next to him without getting caught. I can see it- the compulsive twitch of disappointment and hatred traveling through his body, his straight, neat spine .Wasted.  
Everything good in this world is wasted on those who don't deserve it.  
  
Even though her face is turned away from mine, I can still feel her smile of satisfaction oozing through her brains and skull, hitting me in the face. Someday, that smile will be wiped clean from her young, stupid little face. She thinks she loves me and knows love, but her own slouching back gives her away.  
  
Everything good in this world is wasted on those who don't deserved it. And  
all the trash goes to anyone of worth. Garbage and gold, and mashed together, until I  
can' ttell the difference anymore. Until everything's ruined anyhow.  
Everything is gone to hell. This whole world is one huge mistake- God's prototype for  
the real world, wherever it is.  
  
I"ll destroy it all, over and over again...  
  
  
"Sensei..." she continues .Her chin is slightly lifted now, and she has focused her glance on my shirt collar. " Sensei...on our way here...to the bus....you dropped you wallet...Sensei...I didn't know you had a sister named Ukyou. "  
  
  
I suppose I should have felt some sort of stronger emotion at that time then  
dry, vague amusement.  
  
"May I have my wallet back, Tsubaki-Hime?"  
  
"Oh! I-I'm sorry….." the broken words spew from her mouth in short, furious intervals. I let it flow out from one ear to other- what news could she tell me that she hasn't already? That's she sorry,   
oh, and- she "likes me". Subtle, tacked at the end. Nothing new. She fumbles with the item, out of one coat pocket, and hands it to me with almost proud flourish. I reclaim it obvious boredom. Apperently, this upsets her, but her face remains hopeful. It's all in the body language. She wants to know about this "Ukyou".   
  
Holding the useless piece of leather in my hand, I picked out the old, fading picture with a surgeon's hand and hold it up for her to verify. The wallet it'self, on the other hand, goes deftly into my pocket. All this is such a waste of time I almost laugh, but for the sake of entertaining her I will do this. Our princess of Camellias is a prized stock.   
  
"Ukyou is not my sister. The angel of this particular photo makes the shape of faces look somewhat similar, but she was of no relation to me."  
  
Was. Not is. Was.   
  
Even in all her girlish oblivion and, once in a while- mind you, once in while,  
Tsubaki-Hime picks up on something smart. This is one of those times- her face  
is immedaitly brightened by the formation of a slow, shy smile she hides  
underneath the skin. It glows silently, and I grow weary of it  
far too quickly.  
  
End chp. 1 


End file.
